


Smart Casual

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astrophysicist Armin Arlert, Cats, F/M, Musician Annie, Smoking, fire escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: Dr. Armin Arlert has a lot of things in his life, like a PHd, a prodigal understanding of astrophysics, and a cat that likes to step out of his window at inopportune moments.





	Smart Casual

**Author's Note:**

> Like a lot of my other modern AU fics, this one is set in Canada. This is set in Vancouver specifically, but I never found a point to mention it in the fic. 
> 
> Also, the botanist mentioned in the fic happens to be Mikasa :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

The University has been recommending that I work from home for the next two weeks.

It’s not for any reason relating to things like my health, mental or physical. But out of every reason that it could be, it’s because my office needs renovating.

I don’t blame them for telling me to to work from home though. The building they’ve kept me in is from a point in time where asbestos was thought to be the best insulator.

My office will probably be a safer place for me once the entire building gets a new renovation in insulation.

Home is a change of pace for me. I’m used to working between four walls painted beige, dressed in something that would be classified as _‘smart casual.’_

For the last few days, I’ve been working in my own apartment, wearing the clothes that I went to sleep in.

Oddly enough, I’ve noted that the ideas in my mind tend to flow much more smoothly when I’m wearing less clothing. If my office still has a lock on the door, maybe I’ll shut all the curtains and spend the next few hours studying dark matter in only my boxers.

Working at home is good. I still wake up at 7:00, feed my cat at 7:15, and take a shower at 7:30. By 8, I’m bathed and changed into my clothes for the day.

The biggest change of my routine now is not having to find clothes for the day. With the time I’ve been given by simply wearing my sleepwear all day, I spend my extra minutes conditioning my hair in the shower.

I take more time with my breakfast too, since driving to the University has currently been cut out of my routine.

By 9, I’m in my study, which is essentially a corner of my living room that I’ve set up my desktop and whiteboards at. It’s 9:15 by the time I’m done answering emails and updating my social media accounts.

The only reason why I keep a twitter and instagram account active is to assure the general public that astrophysicists can in fact have a sense of humour.

Sometimes I have to commute back to the University, not to come to my office, but to pay a visit to the on-campus observatory. But that’s usually at night, when it’s way too early for any normal person to be awake for good reason.

I do enjoy being at home. I don’t usually witness my cat walking across my desk at my actual office. Cooking for myself is delightful as well. I haven’t done so in a long time.

I think my neighbours have noticed me at home more often. I don’t talk to them a lot since I’m usually too busy to do so.

I haven’t noticed them a lot before and I don’t think they’ve noticed me.

Beside me lives a woman who plays music for a living. In front of me lives a married couple.

During the last week, I’ve gotten more acquainted with the couple that lives close to me. Their names are Hannah and Franz.

They’re close to my age, but they’re already expecting their first child.

I forget that everyone else’s paths in life are different than mine. Most of my colleagues and friends earned their Ph.D’s in their late twenties or early thirties, and most of my colleagues and friends close to my age are applying to grad school or finishing off their Bachelor’s.

When I was younger, everyone looked at me like I was different, and I already knew I was.

My grandfather had sent me to a school for gifted kids when he realized I could understand string theory while other kids struggled through basic arithmetic. I had more in common with Carl Sagan than I did with Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck.

Through that school for gifted kids, I eventually made my way to the University, where I was allowed to spend more time studying the stars and less time worrying about recess or Saturday morning cartoons.

It was safer for me at the University. I spent most of my formative years in rooms like my ‘study,’ only those ones were more barren and lonely. There would be nothing in there except for me, a whiteboard, a pen, and a computer.

On occasion, a man in a white coat would come in to see what I had written on the whiteboard. He would nod, say _“Good work, Armin,”_ and then leave so I could write some more.

The scientists who helped mentor me played Mozart on a radio, just so I would have something to listen to while I worked.

Apparently, classical music could keep people calm. I get what they were trying to do, they needed my brain to be in a certain state so I could work more.

That was years ago. Now, I’m twenty-four, a recipient of an PHd at the tender age of twenty-two, and I’m Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s most unapologetic hater.

Seriously, fuck Mozart. His music is boring as shit.

At 11:50, I decide to stop writing calculations on the board for the sake of my aching wrist.

It’s a good idea to take an early lunch break. My cat seems to think so. She walks across my desk repeatedly. She’s hungry, I know he is.

I put my whiteboard pen down and walk towards my apartment’s kitchen. I start lunch by filling my tea kettle with cold tap and placing it on the stove. After I turn it on, I go to my fridge for the leftover pasta from last night’s dinner.

I load the cold rigatoni onto a plate and set it in the microwave on high.

Once that’s running, I go the cupboard to grab some cat treats.

I don’t feed Smoggy another full meal until evening, but usually, a few treats in the afternoon seem to help her through until then.

I shake the bag of cat treats, knowing that it will get her attention.

“Smoggy! Smoggy, where are you?”

But she doesn’t come. Last I saw, Smoggy was walking across my desk, so I make my way from the kitchen to my living room.

“Smoggy? Where’d you go?”

My bedroom and bathroom doors are closed, along with the closets in the hall.

Smoggy has to have gone off somewhere.

I look over to the window in my living room, which I had opened at about 10:37, and an upsetting realization sinks into my head.

“Smoggy, you better not be where I think you are…”

After putting the treats down, I walk over until I can stick my head out the window. Out there is the fire escape, not a balcony or anything. I don’t often go out on it, even though it’s something I can easily do.

Smoggy likes to run out on it and rest on the stairs that lead up to the other floors. I don’t think she’s planning to break that habit any time soon.

“Smoggy?”

I look left and then I look right. When I do look right, I find my cat, but I also find that she isn’t alone.

My neighbour is currently on the fire escape as well, leaning against the railing as she holds a lit cigarette in her hand. Smoggy is sitting on the second step of the staircase, and my neighbour is currently petting her on the head.

I’ve only met this neighbour sparingly. Unlike Hannah and Franz, I don’t really see her a lot, whether I be working from home or from the University.

I’m sure that she’s a musician. I’ve witnessed her leaving the apartment building with her guitar case on her back, and I have heard her practicing through the walls too.

Her eyes are big and blue, just like mine, and her blonde hair is tied back into a messy bun. She has an apathetic look on her face and a rather prominent nose.

Despite her look of apathy, she’s petting my cat in a rather affectionate matter. It’s odd, paradoxical, but at least she’s treating Smoggy alright.  

“Smoggy! What are you doing out here?” I exclaim. I move through my window and step onto the fire escape.

“Sorry about her,” I say to my neighbour. I walk over and pick my cat up from the steps. “She likes to wander off sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” my neighbour says. She holds her cigarette down and looks at me. Instantly, I can see her expression change from apathy to rather surprised confusion.

“Uh…”

I see her starting to stare at me. It’s making me nervous.

“What? What is it?” I ask, trying to get a good grip on Smoggy. Now would be the worst time to ever drop my cat.

“You’re not wearing pants.”

I look down and almost have a heart attack.

She’s right, I’m not fully dressed at the moment. I didn’t put pants on this morning.

I’m at least wearing a sweater, but below the waist, all I have on are my boxers, a pair of house slippers, and dress socks.

I feel like a lot of people would have bad dreams about situations similar to this.

But I know I’m not dreaming because I can feel Smoggy sinking her claws into my arm, I can smell the smoke off my neighbour’s cigarette, and I can feel a cool chill on my skinny peg legs and light breeze blowing into a rather sensitive part of me.

I feel like I should cover myself, but the only thing I have in my hands is my European Shorthair. I don’t like the idea that’s coming into my head. I’ve gone through with it once before and I now have a few scars in places where scars should never be.

The street is only five floors away from up here. I could just jump off and end things right now.

My neighbour speaks up.

“Rough morning?” she wonders. She takes a drag of her cigarette.

I shake my head, “No, actually…. It’s a long story.”

“Mmm…” She blows out smoke and some of it gets into my face. I don’t mind it though. My grandmother used to smoke three packs a day. I still can’t fathom how she managed to live as long as she did.

“I got time,” my neighbour claims. “Can I hear it?”

“Uh… it’s not a particularly interesting story,” I say. “I’ve just been working from home, that’s all. When you work from home, there’s not much of a dress code. Thus the boxers.”

“Makes sense,” she agrees, briefly glancing down.

For the record, I had no way of predicting that someone would be seeing me in my underwear today. Thus the reason why I’m currently wearing boxers adorned with the constellations of the Andromeda galaxy.

“My name is Annie, by the way.”

“I’m Armin,” I respond. I carry Smoggy on one arm so I can shake Annie’s hand.

This is the first time I’ve ever heard her name. I know her face but I don’t know her name.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask her.

“Few months. About six by now,” she answers, shrugging.

That sounds about right. The people who used to live in Annie’s apartment were evicted around six months ago. Something about running a meth lab or a crack den. I can’t remember which.

“What about you?” Annie brings up.

“Two years,” I reply. “I got this apartment right after I graduated.”

“Finding a place right after graduation, huh?” Annie remarks. She takes another drag, and when she responds, the smoke moves carelessly out of her mouth. “Sounds lucky. Did you get a job as well?”

“Kinda,” I say. “When you earn a PHd in astrophysics at age twenty-two, most places will be begging for you to work for them.”

Annie blinks. I think that she hadn’t been expecting me to say that.

“You have a PHd?” she asks, rather impressed. “But you’re… my age.”

I shrug, “I have my ways of making things work. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-five,” she responds. “Just turned this March. You?”

“Twenty-four since last November,” I say. “We’re not exactly the same in age, but we’re close.”

“You don’t look like an Astrophysicist,” Annie remarks, looking me up and down.

“To be fair, most Astrophysicists wear pants to work,” I tell her. “And not galaxy boxers.”

I decide to sit down on the steps of the fire escape. I place Smoggy on my lap and pray that she doesn’t extend her claws and give me more scars on my thighs than I need.

“What do you do?” I ask Annie. “Are you a musician?”

She looks surprised that I’d guess that. “Uh…. yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“I can hear you through the walls,” I say. “I mean, I know you probably didn’t intend to be heard, but it happens.”

She looks almost embarrassed. She turns away from me and takes another hurried drag of her cigarette.

“Hey, it’s okay, I like your sound,” I assure Annie. “It’s good. You’re good.”

“Uh… thank you…” Annie seems nervous. It appears that the words in her head are having trouble coming out of her mouth. She takes another drag of her cancer stick.

“You play guitar, don’t you?” I ask her.

Annie nods her head, “Yeah. Electric.”

“Are you in a band or is it just a hobby?” I wonder.

Annie shrugs, “It’s complicated. I just work in a guitar shop, but a friend of mine roped me into forming a band with her.”

“What’s the band name?”

“Second Chance.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell in my head. There are quite a few bands in the city, it’s hard to hear them all.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Do you play gigs?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’d like to hear you guys play one day.”

Annie seems reluctant. “We’re terrible. I’d highly advise against it.”

I chuckle at her. I don’t know if she’s serious or not, but the bluntness in her tone is amusing.

I’ve always admired musicians (except for Mozart because fuck Mozart) and their craft. A thing I discovered in my university years is that there isn’t much of a rift between people in the sciences and people in the arts.

I have a friend who’s chasing a Master’s in Botany who also happens to be the bassist in a band. Sure, there’s not much of a target demographic for bands made of botany majors, but they’ve play open mic nights on campus bars and cafes.

I’ve even met English majors who have shown fondness for the works of Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan. Even people pursuing the world’s most useless degree know what’s up. It’s incredible.

Just because someone doesn’t major in something, it doesn’t mean that they can’t appreciate it.

At this point, Annie’s cigarette has gotten very short. When it’s too short to be smoked anymore, she taps it against the railing to get rid of the ashes, then she flicks it away and watches it fall down five stories.

We both watch as the cigarette butt descends and lands on the roof of someone’s car.

“Are you sure that’s the best way to get rid of those?” I comment.

“It’s a bad habit,” Annie shrugs.

“And smoking isn’t?” I retort.

The second I say that, Annie glares at me, and suddenly, I raise my right hand and slam it over my mouth.

It takes me a moment to realize just how rude that was.

“I’m so sorry,” I say through my fingers. “I didn’t mean that.”

Annie shakes her head, “No, I understand completely.” She pulls a pack of smokes out of the pocket of her hoodie and looks at it like it’s the bane of her existence. “This is a shitty, _shitty_ habit. It’s the stupidest thing to do in the world. I was just a stupid kid in high school who thought smoking would make her cool.”

I take my hand off my face. “Haven’t we all done stupid things when we were young? I certainly have.”

Annie doesn’t seem to believe me. She looks unconvinced. “Like what, Mr. PHd?”

“It’s Doctor PHd, actually. And I did get extremely drunk on the night after I received my doctorate,” I explain. I’m a responsible person. I waited at least twenty-four hours after earning my PHd to party hard and take in the true university experience.

“According to my classmates, I took about seven shots of tequila, but I only remember drinking two.”

In response to the craziest night of my young life, Annie lets out an amused hum. That seems to be the closest thing to a laugh that she can muster.

“That’s very… intense,” she comments.

I see the corner of her lip turning up. It’s a smile… I think.

“I’m not fond of that night,” I admit. “I think I drunk dialed an old friend of mine to tell him that I loved him. And the hangover the next morning felt like torture.”

“Tequila really fucks you up,” Annie says.

Oh, don’t I know that.

“I’m more of a vodka person,” she adds on. “I like to keep a bottle around. For mixing, really.”

“For mixing what?” I wonder.

I myself don’t really keep anything in my place. Though, there does happen to be a bottle of coffee liqueur in the back of my fridge and a few things I’ve snagged from hotel minibars.

“White Russian usually,” Annie responds. “You know… cream, kahlua, vodka. It’s an easy drink. I don’t think I’ve ever watched The Big Lebowski though.”

“The big what?”

Annie shakes her head, “Nevermind.”

From the inside of my apartment, I hear the sound of whistling.

“That’s my kettle,” I say. I stand up and walk across the fire escape box until I get to my window. I let my cat in first. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

“No thank you,” Annie turns down. She stands up as well. “I got an errand to run anyway.”

I just stand there, watching her as she starts to step through her apartment window.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” Annie says, sticking her leg into her open window.

“I hope so,” I tell her. “Actually, uh… my work situation is only temporary. Once my office is done being renovated, I’ll be back to working at the university.”

“Oh.”

I sense a small bit of disappointment in Annie’s tone. I didn’t think that she actually enjoyed the conversation with me.

I don’t talk to girls or guys often. When I do, it’s usually on campus and they’re usually only doing it to learn something about my current research.

And I’m usually wearing pants as well.

“Come by for tea some time,” I suggest to her. “Or for coffee. Or vodka. Or White Russians. Whatever you want. I don’t know, I’m usually free in the evenings.”

I see that small smile of hers again.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Annie says. She looks like she’s trying to hide her grin. “See you around then, Doctor.”

“You too.”

Annie heads back into her apartment and closes the window behind her.

I do the same. Though, I keep the window opened at a smaller gap, just so Smoggy won’t step out again.

The first thing I do once I’m inside my apartment is run to my kitchen. I turn off my stove and take the kettle off. After pouring some hot water into my favourite mug, I place a tea bag inside.

While my tea brews, I make my way towards my bedroom to change into a less embarrassing pair of boxers and put on some goddamn pants.

**Author's Note:**

> The name of Annie's band was made by a friend of mine for her band AU. [Here's a link to her blog.](http://hilow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
